


My Buddy, the Angel

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Asexual Character, Fanfiction, Flying, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, Other, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: "So, look. My job's to hang around and bail you out in like, life or death situations, but don't take that as carte blanche to act like an idiot, okay? No skydiving.""I'meight," John said.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73
Collections: Romancing McShep 2021





	My Buddy, the Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[Art] My Buddy, the Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833074) by [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz). 



> Written for the extremely cute art by nagi_schwarz, in the 2021 Romancing McShep festival.

The first two times Meredith saved John's life, John didn't realize.

He was six when he got measles, having missed the second dose of the vaccine as his father had taken the family away on vacation—really a business trip, to check out a potential power plant site. If it had gone one way, John might have died from it. He didn't die, and he didn't get any of the complications like pneumonia or blindness, which was just as well, as he wouldn't have been able to fly if he'd been blind. Even then, John was obsessed with airplanes and flying.

After the second time when he was seven, a near-miss with a car at the mall, Dad made a joke about John having nine lives. Mom didn't think that was the least bit funny, and there was another argument. John was just happy the new model plane he'd been clutching was okay. It was a Spitfire and brand new, still in its box. He was looking forward to working on it.

The arguments got worse, and one day when he was eight John took his horse, Pegasus, out for a ride to get away from the house. Dave had shut himself in his room to read with his headphones on, but when his parents argued John felt like he might burst, or hit something, so he needed to be outside.

Pegasus was his horse's thoroughbred name—John had named him when the colt was born, and for once, had gotten his way as it sounded classical and expensive. John chose it as his namesake had had wings, and on his back, once Pegasus was old enough to ride, so did John.

He rode Pegasus out to the far pasture, into the woods then beyond and down a steep slope where he was forbidden to gallop as it was treacherous, with uneven ground. Today, John galloped, the wind of his passage making his eyes stream with tears. Yeah, that was just the wind.

Maybe it was the tears, but he turned Pegasus the wrong way around a stump even though he knew there was a dangerous dip in the land that way. Pegasus stumbled, throwing John off, and then he was tumbling in mid-air, falling down, his head aimed for a rocky outcrop.

"Oh for goodness' sake!" snapped a child's voice behind him, and his fall was arrested. He floated gently down onto a hummock well clear of the rocks as Pegasus found his footing and pulled out of the stumble, slowing and turning to stare back at John, then snorting and bending placidly forward to munch grass.

John hadn't felt anyone catch him; it was more like he'd been lowered gently down on a cushion of air. He turned to see a blond kid with curly hair and piercing blue eyes frowning at him, hands on his hips. He was wearing a white t-shirt and suspiciously clean white pants.

The kid raised a sarcastic eyebrow at John. "I realize your parents are determined to fuck you up, hence the suicidal riding, but can you _please_ not make my job well-nigh impossible?"

John gaped at him, partly at the swear word which he knew perfectly well but would never use anywhere his father might hear him, and partly at the ridiculously impractical white pants. But mostly as the kid was floating an inch above the grass.

"You, you're..." he stammered, pointing.

The blond kid looked down at himself. "What, are these not the right sort of clothes? I just can't take fashion seriously." Then he seemed to realize the problem. "Oops, sorry." He settled down to rest on the grass. It didn't seem to bend much underneath him, though, John noticed.

"Are you a ghost?" John asked, his voice only quavering a bit.

"What? No!" the kid said, looking affronted. "Oh, wait, you can't see them." A pair of white, feathery wings materialized, fanning out on either side. "That give you any clues?"

"An, an angel?" John whispered, unable to take his eyes off the wings. Sometimes he dreamed of flying, and in those dreams he always had wings; he was never in a plane.

The kid poked suspiciously at the grass beside him then sat on it gingerly. "Well, technically I'm still in training. This is my field assignment." His face twisted, mouth pulling down on one side. "They won't be happy I outed myself to you, but there was a lot going on and to be honest I'm better with theory than practice."

"Are you real?" John blurted. He wanted to reach out and touch the wings, but he didn't dare.

"I hate metaphysics!" the kid—angel—said angrily. "Give me plain old physics any day, much more sensible." He frowned at John. "Yes, I'm real. I'm just not always _corporeal_ —I mean, physically in a body, the way you are. It's kind of more... voluntary, for me."

"Voluntary," John repeated faintly.

"Yes, John, but for now I'm," he waved at himself; he had long, slender fingers, "like this."

"You know my name." John said, feeling socially disadvantaged as well as freaked out.

"Well, I am a _guardian_ angel," the kid said. "They don't send us out on assignment without a basic bio on the subject." He eyed John as though doubting some aspects of that briefing. John's IQ, maybe.

John tried to rally. "So what's _your_ name?"

"Sorry, didn't I say? It's Meredith. From the Welsh angelic tradition, apparently. Guardian of the Sea or some nonsense." He gestured moodily. "I didn't get a say in it. I'd rather have had an ordinary name."

"That can get old, too," John said. There were four boys in his class called John. "I'm gonna call you Mer."

"Whatever." Mer blew out a breath, or faked breathing pretty convincingly. "So, look. My job's to hang around and bail you out in like, life or death situations, but don't take that as carte blanche to act like an idiot, okay? No skydiving."

"I'm _eight_ ," John said.

"And yet here we are after you nearly killed yourself galloping down a hill," Mer retorted.

"Okay, point," John said. "It's just... they were arguing again, my folks, and Dave's no help—we don't really get on. And—"

"I get it," Mer said quietly. "I've been with you a couple of years now; I've seen how it is."

"Ew, creepy," John said, annoyed. He started to get up. "You've been _stalking_ me?"

"No! Like I explained. It's my job, watching over you. Damn. This is why we're not supposed to reveal ourselves—endless questions and most of them I'm not allowed to answer."

John had scrambled up; he was still unsettled. "But why me? Or does everyone have a guardian angel?"

"Yeah, questions like that," Mer said tiredly, flowing up to his feet in an unnerving way that didn't quite involve all the usual joints and muscles. "There's stuff I'm not allowed to tell you. Like why you, or what happens next." He held up a warning hand. "Not that I know, 'cause I don't."

John bit his lip. He'd been reading _The Fellowship of the Ring_ this summer. "Is it, um, a quest or something? With, like, the grail or a sacred stone, or—"

Mer rolled his eyes. "No! There's no quest, and this isn't a Boy's Own adventure. You just need to... carry on with your life." He shrugged, as if realizing that had fallen rather flat.

"And you'll... hang around?" John assessed Mer dubiously. "What about when I'm in the bathroom?"

"Oh for—" Mer looked about ready to tear his hair out. "It's not like that, not like, like _surveillance_. Anyway, I'm an angel, I'm above all that."

"You don't use the can?" John asked, interested now.

"Again with the questions!" Mer snapped. "Look, I'm corporeal, but I'm not _human_ , okay? No eating, no shitting, and—" he snapped his fingers at the ridiculous white shirt and pants, which vanished, making John gasp. "See? Not. Actually. Human."

"Wow," John breathed, unable to stop staring at Mer's pale, hairless, winged body. He was smooth, with no nipples or belly button. Where his legs met his trunk, instead of a small dangling penis like John had, there was nothing, just more featureless pale skin. It looked... tidy. John was kind of envious.

"Satisfied? Can I bring the clothes back?"

"Hey, can you change them?" John asked. " 'cause they're really dumb and if you're gonna be around sometimes you'll need clothes that'll blend in."

Mer looked worried. "I'm no good with fashion. Like what?"

John gestured at himself. "Blue jeans, a bit worn. And a colored t-shirt, not white. Maybe one with writing on the front. Hey, you like physics, right? Put a physics joke on it or something."

Mer looked baffled. "A physics joke? It's science, how can there be jokes about it?"

"Hoo boy," John said, gathering up Pegasus's reins and leading him around to head back home. "Have I got some stuff to show you, buddy. C'mon, let's go back to the house."

"Wait, wait," Mer said, waving a hand and conjuring up jeans identical to John's, even to the hole in the left knee, and an unnaturally clean plain blue t-shirt.

John snorted. "Yeah, maybe make the jeans a bit different to mine, or people will think it's weird." The hole moved to Mer's right knee, and the color darkened. "I guess it'll do," John said dubiously. "Wait. _Can_ other people see you?"

"Sometimes," Mer said, falling in on John's left as they walked and casting nervous glances across at Pegasus on John's other side. "I mean, we don't want them thinking you're talking to thin air if they notice us."

"Huh, right," John said, nodding. "I'll say you're my friend from school, and that you're shy. I've got my own room and I don't hang out with anyone except the grooms and horse trainers." He glanced across at Mer who still looked a bit odd, but more in a geeky way than like an angel, now the wings had disappeared and his clothes were better.

This might be okay, kind of like having a friend.

* * *

The staff at the estate soon got used to John's best friend Mer, the odd, awkward kid who never stayed for meals or even ate snacks. John was pretty sure they'd bought the story about Mer's food allergies although Rosalie the housekeeper had been disappointed. John knew she felt sorry for him and would have liked to bake them cookies to share. Well, she still made cookies and treats for John and Dave, but not when Mer was around in case he felt left out. Since he was around much of the time, that was a bummer.

Other than that, having Mer visit was great. They watched TV and argued about their favorite heroes (Batman for Mer, who snorted at superpowers in anyone who wasn't an angel). Sometimes, John put together model airplanes while Mer "supervised"—by which he meant criticizing John's technique and scoffing at the poorly-written instructions. They read books and comics, talked about a million things, and played video games on John's Atari.

On the far side of the woods where none of the staff could see, Mer magicked up all sorts of costumes when they were acting out scenes from the _Lord of the Rings_ or the Narnia books _._ One time he turned himself into Reepicheep the mouse, rapier and all, which had John rolling in the grass laughing hysterically while Mer jabbed at imaginary enemies and yelled, "No one touches the tail!"

Mer didn't manifest at school, but John knew he was there, invisibly watching and rolling his eyes at John's teachers, of whom he had a uniformly low opinion. They met up after school, discussing the day's lessons in the back seat if his Dad's driver was picking them up. John liked the times he rode his bike better as then Mer perched behind him with his arms around John's waist, talking his ear off all the way home. Mer was especially scornful about John's science teacher, Mr. Galbraith, who apparently had a "criminally limited grasp of even the most basic scientific concepts." Mer started tutoring John in math and general science, saying he was worried John's brain would rot if he didn't get a better education. He was no help with English or French, though, waving them off as unimportant.

The years passed and Mer gradually changed in appearance, seeming to get taller and ganglier, keeping pace with John. At Mer's urging, John asked for one of the new Commodore computers the Christmas he turned thirteen, and after that Mer monopolized it, muttering under his breath until he'd made John a mini-golf game, which was pretty cool, even if golf was more his Dad's sort of thing. He preferred playing chess with Mer, and half the time John beat him, too, which made Mer splutter and accuse him of cheating. For an angel, he was a pretty sore loser.

John didn't have any other friends at school. There were the guys on the football team, and Tom, John's lab partner in biology, but he didn't want anyone asking questions about Mer so he kept to himself, superficially friendly, but aloof. That got harder as puberty took hold, turning kids who'd been perfectly sensible into idiots who only wanted to talk about girls, and dating, and sex. It made John uncomfortable—he couldn't see what the big deal was, and for a while he wondered if he was gay. Maybe he was, but he didn't want to have sex with guys either—he never tried to watch the rest of the team in the showers or had fantasies about them. When he daydreamed, it was about Mer taking him flying, holding John close while those great white wings carried them up into the clouds.

In the end it was puberty 1, John zero, and no matter what he wanted his voice broke and his penis got bigger. He hated it because it made him less like Mer, hairy and coarse where Mer was smooth and clean. Mer's face stayed soft and hairless and his curls were still blond. John dreamed of running his fingers through Mer's hair, of hugging Mer and kissing him. Gentle kisses, to his eyelids and his cheeks, and his curling, expressive lips. None of that yucky stuff with tongues.

Then his mom got sick, and everything went to hell.

* * *

No one told John and Dave what was wrong at first. Mom went in and out of hospital, and there were tests, and she spent more time in bed. The arguments stopped but Mom and Dad didn't seem happier. John didn't talk to Dave about it—it was like if neither of them mentioned Mom losing weight and all the pill bottles on her bedside table, maybe nothing bad would happen. Mer was quieter, and he touched John more, holding his hand where no one could see them, and leaning into John when they were reading.

Then Mom went back into hospital, and when she came home a nurse Dad had hired moved in, and her bed was moved downstairs to one of the guest rooms. It wasn't her normal bed, either, but a hospital one that could be raised and lowered with a button. John overheard a quiet, heated discussion between his parents, his mother saying "...tell them," and his father disagreeing.

Not long after that, Dad sat him and Dave down and told them Mom was sick, which duh, of course they knew _that_.

"She's gonna get better though, right?" asked Dave, his voice quavering a little.

"She's on a new medication," Dad said, but his eyes were bleak. Dave started to sniffle and Dad frowned, giving them both a stern look. "You boys have to be strong, and look after each other," he said. "Don't upset your mother."

"Yes, sir," John said, and, "No, sir." He took Dave outside and they sat on the back steps. John put an arm around Dave while he cried, his own eyes dry. He felt cold and scared inside, and desperate to see Mer.

After Dave was calmer John went to the meadow, out past the woods, and Mer came and sat beside him. "Did you know?" John asked, an edge in his voice.

"I, I can't—" Mer began.

"Did you fucking _know_?" John asked again, feeling like a knife was in his guts. Mer just stared at him, eyes huge and his mouth pulled down on one side.

"You have to fix her," John said, tears stinging his eyes. "Mer, you have to, you—"

"I _can't_ ," Mer said miserably. "It doesn't work like that. John, I—"

"You're supposed to protect me from bad stuff!" John yelled, wrenching away and scrambling to his feet.

"Not from this sort of thing," Mer said sadly. "Not from life." Then he held onto John while John wept.

The funeral was grim. John and Dave had to wear new, uncomfortable clothes and their Dad was even more distant than usual, like the mid-winter weather, cold and bleak. The scent of the lilies around his mom's coffin turned John's stomach and he didn't know most of the people there, but he still had to be polite and let old ladies with powdery cheeks kiss him.

After, Dad wasn't there much. They were told he was busy with work but John figured he was hiding. Dave withdrew into his books but John was angry and restless and he rode Pegasus a lot, going too fast, jumping fences and logs, tasking risks.

"Will you stop it!" Mer shouted at him, one time when he'd been thrown and was sprawled in the grass, winded and cradling a bruised wrist.

"This is your fault!" John yelled back.

"It's really not," Mer said, his mouth a thin line. "And killing yourself's not going to help anything, either."

"Nothing helps," John said miserably, and Mer put his arms around him. John held on tight and shut his eyes, and he felt Mer lift him up like he didn't weigh a thing.

"What—" John started, but Mer shushed him. There was a rush of movement and when John opened his eyes they were higher than the tops of the trees. Mer's wings were spread wide, beating the air to carry them higher, and John could see for miles and miles, warm in Mer's arms as the cold wind blew away his tears.

* * *

"Wake up, John." John snapped awake fast, his heart pounding. Mer stood by the bed, silvery in shafts of moonlight shining in through the windows. The bedside clock said it was three a.m., but Mer never stayed late or did sleepovers. The not eating thing would've been too hard to explain.

"What're you—" Mer shook his head, then sat on the side of the bed. He looked heavy, weighed down, like he'd never had wings at all.

"They let me come see you one last time, but I have to keep it short." He glanced around the room, then back at John. "And they're watching, of course."

"Watching? Who—" John shucked off the covers and pushed himself up to sit beside Mer. It was a warm summer night, but he felt chilled and sick. _One last time?_

Mer slid a hand into John's. "The higher-ups. My... supervisors, I guess you could say. They found out I've breached a bunch of boundaries with you—the way you know about me and can see me." He gestured hopelessly. "They did some kind of spot check and now they know it all—our chess games, the tutoring, the flying, everything."

"Are they gonna hurt you?" John bit his lip, terrified for Mer. He wanted to protest, to tell those interfering bastards to leave Mer alone, but what could he do? He was just a kid, a mortal; he was no match for—what even _were_ they? Archangels?

"They're banishing me to 'Siberia'," Mer said bitterly. "It's an in-joke, code for banishment to one of the outer circles of Hell." He probably saw John's bow furrowing, as he added, "Hell's not really hot, you know. It's cold, freezing cold."

"How long," John asked, his voice shaky. "How long do you have to... "

Mer shrugged. "A while, to teach me a lesson. I don't know how long it'll be in human years, John. Angelic time runs differently, so there's no way to say."

"Years," John repeated, feeling frozen inside, like he was in Hell himself. "You said years."

"John," Mer said carefully. "It might not even be in your lifetime before I'm allowed back on Earth. There's no way to say." He looked away, his mouth slanting sharply down. "And they're not likely to assign me to you again, anyway."

"No!" John said, his voice harsh and desperate. He pulled Mer up and stood, vibrating with the need to do something, anything. "I won't let them, you can't—"

"They won't leave you without a Guardian, John," Mer said, trying to be reassuring, putting a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about that, although you won't ever see them, not after—"

"I don't care about the damn Guardian!" John almost yelled, then forced himself to be quiet before he woke up the household. He grabbed Mer's shoulders and stared at him. "I care about _you_!" Mer's face was ghostly in the moonlight, ethereal, almost like he was half banished already. "Don't you feel the same?" John hissed urgently, knowing he was being unfair and cruel, but unable to stop himself.

Mer's face crumpled, silver tears streaking his cheeks. "Of _course_ I care. That's the whole point, John, that's why they're sending me awa—"

John pulled him close and kissed his tears, kissed his trembling mouth. Mer held onto him and they clung together, John's arms around Mer's neck. Mer's wings appeared and wrapped around them both, warm and familiar.

Then Mer faded, and there was nothing under John's hands, no wings enfolding him, no form pressed against his. He opened his eyes, hearing Mer's voice in his mind as he whirled, searching the empty shadows. "Goodbye."

John flung himself down on his bed and cried himself to sleep. It was the last time he ever let himself cry.

* * *

Things went south with John and his dad after that. They hadn't been close for years and John hadn't forgiven his dad for avoiding him and Dave after they lost Mom. So what if Dad was grieving? John and Dave were grieving too, and they were just kids. Well, Dave was, anyway. In fact he was annoyingly clingy, sucking up to Dad whenever he was home. Which wasn't often. John guessed it was partly his own fault for hanging out with Mer so much, but he and Dave had never gotten along, and Dave had his own friends. He shut down those thoughts. He wasn't thinking about Mer.

Dave and his dad weren't the only ones who annoyed John. The other boys at school were even more irritating, only wanting to make gross jokes and moon over girls. John got into a few arguments and got sent home once for fighting. He was grounded for a week, which was a bummer as he wasn't allowed to go riding and Pegasus was the only good thing in his life these days. John argued with the teachers, too, especially Mr. Galbraith who really _was_ a moron, just like Mer had said... but he wasn't thinking about Mer.

Home turned into a battleground, or more like a cold war, with John sullen and his dad tight-lipped. Most of John's senior year they fought about his plans, with his dad insisting he do a business management degree and eventually join Sheppard Industries, the last thing John wanted. He already knew he was going to enlist in the Air Force so as to fly. Anyway, Dad had Dave, who was falling over himself to do exactly what Dad wanted.

His plan never to think about Mer again didn't work all that well. He worried about him in "Siberia" but tried to reassure himself that angels didn't feel the cold. Sometimes he dreamed about Mer, about holding hands, and flying, and arguing about superheroes. Once he dreamed about the night Mer left and in the dream he was crying and pleading with Mer, but when he woke, his eyes were dry.

John left home as soon as he could. A lot of the cadets at the Air Force Academy got homesick, but for John it was a relief. Plus, he was finally doing what he wanted: learning how to fly, and being taught the science and logistics of flight. He enjoyed gliding, but when they graduated to powered flight he fell in love, and Test Pilot school was a blast. There was a bunch of boring stuff about military rules and regulations of course, but he liked the aeronautics and engineering courses and math had always come naturally to him. The Air Force paid his way through graduate school at Stanford for a Masters in Applied Mathematics, keeping the pilot slot he'd earned open for two years while he was away.

The other thing he learned in the Air Force was how to seem normal. He'd have been cautious anyway as even if he'd never been attracted to anyone but Mer, relationships with other guys were automatic grounds for dismissal. Anyway, one reason the Air Force had appealed was the fraternization regs; John didn't _want_ to fraternize with anyone, and the UCMJ made that easy. You had to pretend you were straight, though, so John invented a series of long-distance girlfriends and complained about missing them. He even wrote himself a few letters on pastel stationery, posting them while on leave in cities where no one knew him. He got pretty expert at faking it, in the end.

Maybe that was how John found himself dating Nancy after grad school. He'd been unable to avoid a double date with one of the guys in his squadron and it was easier having a real girlfriend than inventing one. In the end, he even married her. He felt kind of shitty about it, but it seemed to be what she wanted, and his lack of experience in bed wasn't a deal-breaker—the opposite, in fact. He didn't enjoy the sex, but his body was young and full of hormones and Nancy liked foreplay, so he scraped by. After the wedding, Dad clapped John on the back and told him marrying Nancy was "the first smart thing you've ever done". That was when John knew the marriage was doomed, but it would never have worked out anyway with John's indifference to sex. That, and his long deployments overseas.

The only people John really loved were his squadmates. Afghanistan in winter was another freezing outer ring of Hell, but he loved flying helos, and rescue missions, and the tight bonds of friendship with his crew made him realize how lonely he'd been, ever since Mer. He wasn't avoiding those thoughts anymore; they just didn't happen that often. His time with Mer as a kid had faded and become dreamlike, memories worn thin from overuse.

He earned his first black mark rescuing his team, and a year later another, going after Holland without orders. Not that he _did_ rescue Holland, who bled out when they were ambushed by a Taliban raiding party. The brass busted his chops and sent him to Antarctica, which was better than John had feared and probably more than he deserved. At least he still got to fly, and he liked it in Antarctica. It was smooth and clean like Mer had been, and sometimes he let himself imagine he might find Mer there in the icy wastes, serving out his banishment in the snow, just like John.

* * *

"Major, think about where we are in the solar system," the stocky guy in the orange fleece said, staring intently at John.

John was trying to hide how freaked out he was. In the course of thirty minutes he'd piloted a General, nearly been killed along with the General by a yellowish squid-like missile, been taken down into a top-secret underground base where they worked on _alien tech_ , and sat in a chair that looked like a cheap _Lord of the Rings_ knock-off but turned out to be operated by an alien gene that he apparently had. So, the solar system. Well at least that was familiar.

Everyone's heads tilted up and the dark-haired woman smiled. The guy with thinning hair in the orange fleece had his mouth open. John looked up to see a holo display of the solar system floating in mid-air like a 3-D HUD. "Did I do that?" he asked, but he could feel that he had, feel it thrumming through the link with the Chair. It wanted to do more for him, lots more, but he shut it down and stood up quickly before he accidentally fired any more of those alien missiles and nuked McMurdo.

In the end, John tossed a coin to help make the decision. It was a trick he'd learned years ago, to help figure out how he felt about something deep down. He didn't use it to actually _make_ the decision, just to see if he could live with the outcome of a toss. If he couldn't, he took the other path.

This time, he thought for a while about Mer, and whether Mer would find him if he went through the Stargate. But John didn’t believe he was ever going to see Mer again, if Mer had even been real (mind you, he hadn't believed in aliens, either). Then there was the issue of giving up flying, set against the slim chance of alien spaceships. Antarctica was career death, though. If he stayed on Earth he'd serve out his time as an air taxi service until he retired.

The coin toss was tails, and it felt wrong, so he went to Pegasus anyway.

* * *

Atlantis was the Antarctic Chair in spades, whispering to him, welcoming him. She was old, strange and familiar all at once. And broken, after ten thousand years, so it was a damn good thing that orange fleece guy—who he now knew as Rodney McKay, their Chief Scientist—managed to pull miracles out of his ass almost daily. Not everyone liked McKay, but John did, and not just because his slanting mouth reminded John of a certain teenage angel. After all, McKay had shown him the puddlejumpers, and he'd let John throw him off a balcony.

John didn't dream about Mer's blond curls or being held anymore. He barely remembered flying, carried by Mer's wings. He had friends now—his team, and Elizabeth, Radek, and Carson.

Of course, the price of getting to lead an off-world team, of bonding with Teyla, McKay, and Ford, was having to mercy-kill Sumner and take charge of the expedition's military contingent. No time to freak out about that, though, except in the privacy of his room on the rare occasions he wasn't falling into bed bone-tired, trying not to think about the Wraith and the many ways Pegasus was trying to kill them.

Rodney didn't have to be stoical, as a civilian. It made John set his own fears aside to tease Rodney out of his latest panic as they watched bad movies and played chess, trading insults and trash talk. Somehow, the distraction made things bearable, and if John had to push down a growing affection that felt perilously like attraction, well, it was only that Rodney reminded him a little of Mer, with his crooked mouth, eye-rolling, and back-talk. Anyway, the crisis du jour distracted him from Rodney, so it kind of balanced out.

Teyla was awesome, but she could be uncomfortably perceptive. He went to see her when they found out she had Wraith DNA, after she'd gotten stuck in the mind-meld with the Wraith and had needed to be stunned. Carson had insisted on her staying in the infirmary overnight but she was no better than John at lying patiently in bed so he got permission to take her out to the infirmary balcony, leaning on the railing under Pegasus's stars.

"We will protect Earth, John," she said, her voice sure and calm.

He pulled a face, staring out at the two moons casting bright trails across Lantea's ocean. "Yeah, we have to." But at what cost?

"Do you have family there?"

He shrugged. "We don't get on. I haven't seen them in ages."

Even in the darkness he could sense Teyla's frown. "Is there no one on Earth you are close to?"

"Not now," John said. "They're not... around. Not anymore."

He felt her shoulder pressed against his, warm through his t-shirt. "I am sorry for your loss, John."

"It was a long time ago," he said, but in the moonlit night Mer seemed more real than he had for many years.

"Perhaps it is time to move on and find another," Teyla said softly. "Here, one must live in the now not in the past, with the threat of the Wraith ever-present."

"Sure," John said, suppressing annoyance, "if we get five minutes to draw breath between crises, I'll give it some serious consideration."

It was a cheap shot, but all she did was to turn to him and set her hands on his shoulders, bowing her head. As he rested his forehead against hers he thought again of Mer, and of being held, and let himself remember.

* * *

In the end, it was immaterial. The depleted naquadah generator meant Rodney and Radek couldn't get the remote-controlled bomb-jumper to work and John had no choice but to fly it himself. He blew Rodney off with a quick "so long" before running for the jumper bay, knowing Rodney would never have let him go if he knew.

John hadn't expected to survive and he was too full of adrenaline from nearly dying to feel anything but stunned when the Daedalus beamed him out at the last moment. Then there was the second Hive ship to destroy, once Novak persuaded Hermiod to use Asgard beaming technology to send them a nuke. They still weren't out of the woods, though, and he'd had to watch helplessly as the Wraith dived on Atlantis while Rodney fought to get the shield up. That had been bad, but Rodney pulled off the usual miracle seconds from disaster and John sagged with relief to hear Elizabeth confirm the city was safe. Then Ford deserted, which John couldn't bear to think about, and twelve more Hives were headed their way, so when John staggered into his quarters to try to snatch a couple hours of sleep he was in no shape to deal with a tight-lipped McKay standing angrily by the bed.

" 'So long, Rodney?' "

"How did you get in here?" Not that he expected a reply—Rodney could break into any room in Atlantis, just like John. "There was no other choice, and you know it. So I nearly died—we all nearly died, several times over!"

"Yes, I'm very well aware." Rodney's mouth was pulled down in distress. "It's been exhausting, keeping you alive."

It had been a long, grueling day, in fact days on end of little sleep and non-stop disasters, bad news, and close shaves. John was abruptly sick and tired of Rodney's ego. "You're not the only one who's been saving lives, and a lot of the others didn't make it." He pointed at the door. "Go to hell, McKay, and leave me alone."

"Been there, done that," Rodney said, suddenly deflating, his anger dissipating. He took a step towards the door then turned, shoulders slumping. "You really don't recognize me?"

Recognize him? "Not when you're being an ass," John said, belatedly feeling bad about sounding off at him because, jeez, it'd been a nightmare, and it wasn't over yet. For once, he let his exhaustion and fear show. "I can't deal with this now, Rodney, whatever this is. It's all been too much, so will you please just..." He dropped his head, rubbing his neck.

There was a soft rustle and Rodney said, "John." John looked up, and Rodney's face was calm now, his eyes clear and steady. Behind him, white wings unfurled in the room's dimness.

John gaped, shocked into incomprehension. "You're Mer's replacement? He said you'd never show yourself or you'd be banished, too."

Rodney snorted. "Yes, well, it turns out that having a bunch of ascended Ancients hanging around kind of interferes with oversight from the higher-ups. It's like it jams their radio signals." He waved a dismissive hand, a familiar gesture when he couldn't be bothered explaining complex science. "And no, I'm not Mer's replacement, John. I _am_ Mer." He gestured ruefully at himself, and John took in the stocky body, the soft, thinning hair that wasn't blond anymore, the expressive face that was suddenly, obviously, Mer's.

"I grew up," Rodney—Mer—said. "Or rather, I let this body grow up. Plus, before they let me come back they made sure I looked different. I had to swear not to out myself to you again, so's to be appointed the expedition's Guardian." He looked suddenly weary. "And you've certainly needed one." Slowly the wings faded, until it was just Rodney standing there.

"All along?" John said faintly. "You've been with us, with me, all along?" He felt himself sway, unmoored and blindsided. "But how? Carson's given you physicals, so you can't be..." John waved a hand at Rodney's groin. He'd have blushed, but he was too damn exhausted.

Rodney—John couldn't think of him as Mer anymore, not utterly changed as he was—rolled his eyes. "Trust you to focus on the _least_ important issue, and it's not like that ever mattered to _you_." He shuddered. "It was worse getting used to having an alimentary tract—all those intestines! Although food has its compensations." Rodney shot John a wry smile. "So yes, I'm a bit more 'corporeal' than I was when you were a kid." He made air quotes, and John lost it, bending over with his hands on his knees, snorting with laughter.

"Are you hysterical?" Rodney had grabbed his arm and was peering anxiously into his face. "It's shock, isn't it? I've tipped you over the edge and it's the last straw, on top of—"

John didn't let him babble on; he pulled Rodney in and hugged him, warm and solid.

It was hard to let go, but finally he did. "We are gonna have a _long_ talk when all this is sorted, buddy," he said, poking Rodney in the chest. He frowned. "It _is_ going to be okay, right?"

"You know the rules, John," Rodney said, his mouth thinning. "I can't tell you even if I know, which I mostly don't, and I can't save everyone."

"Yeah, yeah," John said wearily. "I saved _you_ a few times as well." A huge yawn overtook him and he slumped down on the bed to pull off his boots, too tired to take a shower. He looked up. "Hey, I gotta try and sleep, even if I'm too wired to do more than get horizontal." He patted the bed. "Stay?"

"Shove over," Rodney said, shucking off his jacket and undoing his boots. "And I might be able to help with that, at least." He put his arms around John and the wings reappeared, wrapping around them both.

John sighed and tucked his head into Rodney's neck, white feathers soft all around him, and slept.

* * *

the end


End file.
